


Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

by denounce



Series: People Like Us [6]
Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, M/M, Nightmares, the violence warning is for the fucked up nightmare sequence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 23:58:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14532192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denounce/pseuds/denounce
Summary: In 1946, Cole goes to visit the grave of the man he loved.





	Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Cole doesn’t know how long he’s been on this plane, and frankly, he’s too tired to care.

Heavy dark clouds crawl past as the plane climbs higher and higher in the vast night sky, all stars extinguished and replaced by endless dark. This whole flight, Cole’s eyes have been on the window— a mix of morbid curiosity and a feeble attempt to conquer his fears. It didn’t work; he’s still sitting here at this window seat, the other two seats next to him void of any passengers, terrified out of his mind and running through every probable outcome.

Most of them end in crashes.

It hurts to admit this, but— he wouldn’t mind, really. He wouldn’t mind it at all. If the plane _did_ crash and explode and burn him alive, he’d be totally, completely fine with it. It’s not like he’d be able to complain, anyways— Hell probably doesn’t have a complaints department. He winces at that. Cole doesn’t want to go to _Hell,_ that isn’t where _he_ would be. _He_ probably went to Heaven, maybe became even more of an angel.

Cole squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing at them hard. It’s been two years; by now, he should be able to call Hank by name. But no, every time he even _thinks_ of using his name he winces as if he’s in genuine pain— in fact, he did it just then. God, what on _Earth_ told him this was a good idea? If he can’t even think about Hank’s name without reacting so strongly, then what told him he had the strength to visit his grave?

Closing his eyes, Cole leans his head against the window. Ever since he booked this flight, an express from Los Angeles to Topeka, he’s had a bad feeling. It started in his chest with his hollow heart tightening, sinking into his stomach and clenching hard enough to nearly make him double over. He _hates_ feeling so goddamn anxious, but— it’s the only constant in his life, now. In a way, it’s become a— a _comfort,_ so to speak. A horrible, debilitating comfort that brings him to tears and makes him lash out at everything and everyone, but still…

 _Shut up._ With that, his thoughts cease, dropping into a silence that leaves his ears ringing incessantly. He begins to focus on the rumble of the engine, anything to distract himself from the terrible _noise._ With this distraction, though, he begins to drift into sleep— a sleep he’s been deliberately avoiding, in fear of what he may dream.

He should have listened to his fears.

 

* * *

 

Cole’s eyes snap open.

He groans softly, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes and staying like that for a while. When he drops his hands from his face, he tilts his head to peer out of the window, surprised to see that the outside world has turned to an abyssal black. _Odd,_ he muses, glancing to his other side and—

He sees Hank, the man sitting there as if nothing happened. His right side faces Cole, head turned away as he stares at something that doesn’t exist. Eyes on the aisle, he doesn’t look at Cole when he speaks. “Where are you going?”

Cole inhales sharply, feeling himself struggle to move in his own body. He wants to shout, to get up and move to another row, but he _can’t._ When he opens his mouth to respond, only a wheeze comes out— until words he never even thought of escape his lips. “Home,” he says, staring right at Hank. “To you.”

Hank hums. Slowly, he turns to face Cole— and the sight makes him sick to his stomach. It’s not hard to see where the explosive made impact; there’s a cavity in the left of Hank’s abdomen, intestines convulsing as they leak with fresh crimson. That same _red_ runs everywhere and splatters his whole body, drenching every inch of his uniform, even staining the sheet-white skin of his face. Cole’s eyes flick down to his arm— rather, lack of. His left arm, where he’d have worn the watch, is gone from the elbow down, pristine white bone stained dark by blood that refuses to stop draining. “To Atchison?”

Cole retches, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth as tears prick at his eyes. He tries to speak— it comes as another gag, bile crawling up his throat as he resists the urge to vomit at the gruesome sight. He’s seen the corpses of his corpsmen before, but… this is different. This is _horrific._ “To— to Atchison,” he manages to get out, although it barely even qualifies as a whisper. “Where you’re buried, Hank. I’m— I’m going to visit your grave.”

“Oh,” Hank says, turning away again. He tilts his head back until it hits the seat, squeezing his eyes shut and exhaling deeply. “I didn’t know I was dead.”

Cole swallows hard, forcing himself to look the other way, out the window to the spaceless void. “I’m sorry,” he says, flinching when he feels Hank’s gentle hand on his shoulder. “Don’t— please. Don’t touch me.”

Hank pulls away without a word, and Cole can feel his eyes on the back of his head as he just _stares._ “Okay,” he says, “I won’t.” There’s a long and heavy silence, the two men— one dead, one alive— sitting there completely still. Soon enough, Hank breaks the silence. “I’m sorry for leaving you like this.”

Cole stiffens up, shoulders squaring. He almost has to physically restrain himself from looking at Hank, eyes wide as they dart around the nothingness outside. “It’s okay,” he says, even though his voice betrays him. It _isn't_ okay; it never has been, it never will be. “I— I forgive you.”

He feels Hank's hand on his shoulder, gentle and soothing. Hank opens his mouth to speak—

“Sir?”

Cole jolts awake, the air hostess pulling her hand away from his shoulder. He groans quietly, blinded by the sunlight when he opens his eyes. He settles on rubbing at them instead while he tries to adjust. “What?” It comes out more hostile than intended. He sighs, shaking his head. “Sorry, miss.”

The air hostess, with dark brown hair tied in a bun and brown eyes that turn a fiery orange in the light, just offers Cole a patient smile. “Not to worry,” she says, taking a step back and gesturing to the rest of the plane. “We’ve landed in Topeka, sir. I thought you’d have liked to know that.”

Sitting up to see, Cole lets out a low hum. Sure enough, the plane is empty. He turns back to the air hostess, offering a weary yet still polite smile as he moves to stand. “Thank you, miss.” He pauses as he turns to the shelf above his seat, pulling his suitcase out carefully. “Yes, I— I would have hated to miss it.”

At that, the air hostess’s smile widens. “Oh, of course,” she says. “Kansas is very underrated, in my opinion. We have _gorgeous_ woods here.” She’s about to go on, but— she stops, her smile dropping into something more apologetic. “I’m sorry, sir. You just woke up; you probably don’t want to hear me ramble.”

Cole throws a glance over his shoulder, giving her a more easygoing smile. “It’s fine, miss. Are you from Kansas?”

She nods, wringing her hands in front of her as she suppresses a sheepish grin. “Yes, I am,” she says, “just North of Topeka. Have you ever heard of Atchison?”

Cole goes still. He inhales sharply— exhales in a near-breathless sigh. “That’s where I’m heading,” he says, eyebrows furrowing as he turns to face her. “May I ask what your name is?”

The air hostess raises a brow. “Why?”

“I, uh—” Cole looks away, clearing his throat. “I knew someone from Atchison, during the War.” He returns his attention to her, his words dying before they reach his tongue. It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, frantic and racing. “He kind of— looked like you.”

All of a sudden, her expression drops. She breathes in and out for a moment, shaky, one hand resting on her chest and the other on the seat by her side. “Oh—” Swallowing hard, she looks away. “I… I know who you’re talking about.”

Cole’s heart nearly stops. “Do you?”

The air hostess nods, eyes watery and voice breaking. “My— my name is Janice Elaine Merrill. That was my brother.”

 

* * *

 

“I never knew he had a sister.”

“I never knew he had _you._ ”

Together, they stand in front of a grave. Until now, the pair has been completely and utterly silent, Janice with her hands wringing in front of her and Cole with his shoulders low and arms hanging dejectedly at his sides. The headstone reads a name familiar to them both: _Hank Merrill. September 2nd 1917 - October 13th 1944. Requiem in Pace._ Nothing more. No heartfelt words, nothing in memory of him— just his name engraved in stone, regarded with words so foreign yet still so familiar.

Cole shifts his weight to his other foot, sparing a glance towards Janice. She _does_ look like him— the same general bone structure, just a bit softer. The same brown eyes that turn to flame in the light of the sun. The same dark, dark, _dark_ hair that shines bright in the Autumn sunset. The same gentle expression, kind and soft, hiding an extraordinary sense of humor. The same—

“You’re staring again.” They’ve met eyes, now. Janice can’t hold his gaze for long, inhaling and exhaling a deep breath as she looks away. “I’m— I’m sorry. I’m just not used to people looking at me.”

Cole can’t help but give in to the frown tugging at his lips. “No, it’s fine,” he says, eyes darting back to the grave in front of them, one of many in the cemetery. “I don’t mean to scare you. That’s the last thing I could ever possibly want.”

Janice only nods, unlinking her hands and instead reaching up to brush a few strands of deep brown hair out of her face. “You’re not scaring me,” she says, and soon enough she finally works up the courage to look at him again. “It’s just— surreal. He’d always write of you in the letters he sent home, but… we always assumed you were just a friend.”

Exhaling sharply, Cole shakes his head. “No, we were—” He swallows hard, still not brave enough to hold her gaze. “We were much more than that.”

“As you’ve told me,” Janice says, smiling sadly as she reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder. She quickly pulls back, however, when he flinches. Her shoulders sag at that, dropping her eyes to the ground. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Cole says, voice soft and soothing. Eventually, he forces himself to look at her, he _forces_ himself to focus on her beautiful brown eyes, highlighted by the crisp orange rays of the sunset shining through rows of red-leaved trees. Part of him wants to kiss her, but— he knows that it isn’t because of _her._ “There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s just—” He purses his lips. “Fresh in my mind.”

Janice nods, maintaining eye contact as their conversation continues. “It’s fresh in mine, as well,” she says, quiet and timid. “I— I haven’t forgot. I suppose that’s only natural, but—” When her eyes begin to well up with unshed tears, she squeezes them shut and tilts her face upwards. “ _God,_ he was my older brother. He practically _raised_ me.”

Now Cole’s the one with a hand on her shoulder, rubbing gently. She doesn’t flinch away like he does— in fact, she almost leans into it. “I know,” he says, frown growing deeper. “You’re— doing better than I am, at least.”

Letting out a weak laugh, Janice shakes her head. “I highly doubt it. I’m stuck in a job that I hate, father’s health is failing, mother left when I was sixteen…” She stops, wrapping her arms around herself in a hug. Her lip quivers, but somehow she manages to stay strong, simply sniffling before regaining her composure. “I know you don’t want to hear about this. I’m—” She bites her tongue before she can apologize again. “Thank you for listening.”

Despite himself, Cole breathes a small laugh. It’s hollow and empty, but still… “It’s alright,” he says, giving her shoulder a soft squeeze. “I can’t say I know exactly how you feel, but—” He cuts himself off by clearing his throat. “I would suggest coming to L.A., but that’s improper, isn’t it? You have family to take care of out here.”

Janice goes quiet, rocking back and forth on her heels. “Only one,” she says, reaching up to tuck a bit of hair behind her ear. “I’ll— I’ll definitely think about it. After father’s passing.” She looks up at Cole with a weak smile. “You know— technically, you’re my brother-in-law. _You’re_ family, too.”

That catches Cole off-guard. He breathes out a more genuine laugh, looking away as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Come on, now,” he says, voice wavering only a little. “I’m an emotional man, Janice. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Janice laughs in turn, swinging a small punch to his shoulder. “You can handle it,” she says, giving him a gentle pat over where she had punched. “You’re a big scary Marine. A _cop,_ too.”

“Just a Patrol,” Cole says, unable to help the smile creeping onto his face. “But— I suppose that Marine bit is true. Although, I’m _hardly_ intimidating.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “You haven’t been subject to my passion for Shakespeare yet.”

“Oh, _now_ I know what he saw in you,” Janice teases, brown eyes glittering amber as the sun finally begins to sink below the horizon. “An intellectual, huh?”

Cole gives a slight shrug. “I wouldn’t _call_ myself one, but— I’ve been told that’s what I am, yes,” he says. He opens his mouth to continue— but, he shuts it, suddenly aware of the enveloping darkness, only chased away by the lamps around the cemetery. He inhales and exhales a deep breath before he turns back to Janice. “We should get you home. Ah— you wanted me to meet your father, yes?”

Janice nods, offering Cole a smile. Compared to her last ones, this one is genuinely cheerful— it reminds him of Hank. He doesn't get much time to think about it before Janice grabs his hand, pulling him towards their car parked by the side of the road.

“Then,” she starts, hair shimmering gold and eyes lighting up amber in the last of the sun's rays, “come on.”

 

* * *

 

Dinner is silent.

It’s been silent ever since Cole stepped into the old house and exchanged a few words with Hank’s father, Willard Merrill. Simple greetings, condolences, things like that— all followed by uncomfortably knowing silence. Maybe it was only Janice who thought Cole and Hank were simply friends; based on the way Willard keeps _staring_ at him, gaze intensely judgemental and analytical, he must have known of their involvement. Though, his glare, albeit judging, isn’t disapproving in the slightest. There’s no hidden disgust or shock; it’s the familiar look of a father trying to determine what’s best for his child.

Well. What _would have been_ best.

All of a sudden, Janice sets down her fork, gently pushing the full plate of food away from her. “I’m done,” she says, quiet and unconvincing.

Willard spares her a glance, finishing off what he was chewing before responding. “You’ve barely touched your food, Ellie.”

Janice offers him a sheepish smile. “It’s quite alright, father,” she says, hands resting neatly in her lap. “I’m— I’m afraid I’m not all that hungry.” She moves to stand then, but once she’s up, she stops with her hands on the table. The crease in her brow suggests she wants to say something more, but before she can, she just shakes her head with another much weaker smile. “I’ll be near the fireplace if anyone needs me.” With a bow of her head, Janice leaves the dining room at almost a scurry, disappearing through the doorway to the living room.

Once she’s gone, Willard turns his gaze back to Cole, who looks up to meet his eyes and purses his lips. With a shake of his head, Willard continues to eat, only speaking when he’s nearly done. “You flew all the way from Los Angeles just to visit him?”

Cole’s eyes dart between Willard and his own half-eaten plate of food. He opens his mouth to speak— shuts it, gingerly pushing his plate away. “I did,” he admits, moving to sit up straight. “I— I don’t have any family here, so… yes, I did.”

Willard gives a low hum, eyeing Cole’s plate with one brow quirked. “Where _does_ your family reside, son?” He's obviously trying to establish a connection, his hard expression having softened a bit at Cole's admission.

“Ah— San Francisco,” Cole says, shifting in his seat. “But my mother's from England. She came to the States so she could marry my father.” He runs a hand through his hair, breathing out a slightly awkward laugh. “Their story is a classic romance, really. Made me believe in love at first sight.”

Willard lets out a low chuckle, and finally he _smiles._ “That's awfully sweet,” he says, going silent as he finishes his meal. When he's done and his plate joins the middle of the table with the others, he continues. “I don't mean to bring up any painful memories, but—” He pauses, eyebrows furrowing as if he's unsure of how to phrase his next words. Inhaling deeply, he goes ahead anyways. “Was that what it was like for you? Did you love him at first sight?”

Cole goes completely still at the question, whole body tensing up as his icy eyes go wide. “I—” He pauses to clear his throat, fist in front of his mouth. “I did.” It's another admission, but this time, it's deeply solemn. “He… he was the most beautiful man I ever saw, Mr. Merrill. From the moment our eyes met at the train station, I knew—” His voice wavers. With a deep breath in and a deep breath out, he manages to steady himself enough to finish the sentence. “I knew that we were meant to be.”

For a long time, Willard neither does nor says anything, staring down at the floor as he tries to process Cole's words. Eventually, though, he brings his eyes up to meet the younger man's gaze with a sad smile. “Well, then,” he says, “I can tell you were perfect for him.” It's then that he moves to stand, gesturing for Cole to do the same. “Come along, now. It's late; I'll show you to the guest room.”

Nodding, Cole moves to stand. He returns the smile as best as he can, dead silent as he follows Willard up the creaking stairs and through the narrow hallway, the two stopping in front of a plain wooden door. They stand there quietly for a while, Cole only breaking the silence by clearing his throat. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Merrill. You have no idea how much this means—”

All of a sudden, Willard reaches out, grabbing Cole by his jacket and pulling him forward with a white-knuckled grip. “Tell me, son—” He stops, shaking his head and leaning in even closer. “Tell me he was happy. Please.” When Cole doesn't respond, only stares with his eyes wide in shock, he continues. “I don't care if it isn't true. Please— lie to me. Tell me he was _happy_ _,_ for God's sake.”

It takes Cole far too long to find his words, warmth rushing to his face and making his eyes sting. “He was happy,” Cole forces out, his unsteady voice barely above a whisper. “I swear to God, Willard, he was _so_ happy. The last thing he said to me—” Cole's voice breaks, tears threatening to fall. “The last thing he said was _'I love you.’_ ”

Willard lets go as if he's just touched a hot stove, turning around. Cole doesn't have to see it to know that he's crying, too. “That'll do, son,” Willard manages, voice breaking as he reaches up to rub at his eyes. “That'll do.” With that, he sets off down the hall for his own bedroom, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Cole lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, hitting the floor before he even realizes he's sliding down. He inhales sharply— exhales, trying to keep his breathing steady, but he can't. God, he _can't._ Not after that, not after he's driven himself and Hank's father to tears.

Burying his face in his hands, Cole weeps.

 

* * *

 

“You're leaving?”

Cole freezes at the sound of Janice's voice, already halfway out of the door. He takes a deep breath, allowing the crisp morning air to ground him. “I— I suppose I am,” he says rather lamely, reaching up with his free hand to run it through his hair, his other hand occupied with his suitcase. Clearing his throat, he turns to look at her. “I left a note with my phone number on the nightstand. I, uh— I want to keep in contact with you.”

Janice seems to deflate just a bit, pulling her blankets a little tighter around her form. “Oh,” she says, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. “I forgot. You're a married man with kids and a job.” She laughs, but it isn't all there. “I was hoping you'd decide to stay.”

Cole can't keep the surprise out of his expression, eyebrows raising and lips parting with words that escape him as soon as they come. He instead just shuts his mouth, brows knitting together as he wilts under the weight of guilt. “I'm sorry, Janice,” he says, glancing over his shoulder, towards the outside. “I don't _want_ to leave. There's still so much for me to learn about him, here.” He shifts his weight to his other foot. “At the same time, it's… it's too much.”

With a surprisingly gentle smile, Janice steps forward to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Much to the surprise of both her _and_ Cole, he doesn't wince away this time, instead fully accepting it— maybe even savoring it. Janice's smile grows wider. “I understand,” she says, “more than you know.” She gives his shoulder a squeeze before letting go and taking a step back, smile refusing to leave her face. “You're free to go now, Cole. I'll definitely be giving you a call once you're back home.”

Cole returns the smile warmly and genuinely, dipping his head in both acknowledgement and farewell. “Of course,” he says, pivoting around on his heel, his back to her now. “Goodbye, Janice. I hope everything gets better for you.”

Janice breathes a soft laugh. “You too, Cole.”

He leaves without another word.


End file.
